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Wiggin 
Old  Peabody  Pew 


THE  LIBRARY 
OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 

OF  CALIFORNIA 

LOS  ANGELES 


Hie  Old  Peabody  Pew: 


dramatized  by  Kate 


Douglas  Wiggin:  From 


ler  book  of  the  same 


imuel  French:  Publisher 

8-30  West  Thirty-eighth  St. :  New  York 
Samuel  French,  Ltd. 

26  SOUTHAMPTON  STREET,  STRAND 

LONDON 
PRICE  35  CENTS 


The  Old  Peabody  Pew: 
Dramatized  by  Kate 
Douglas  Wiggin:  From 
her  book  of  the  same 
Title. 


Samuel  French:  Publisher 

28-30  West  Thirty-eighth  St. :  New  York 
Samuel  French,  Ltd. 

26  SOUTHAMPTON  STREET,  STRAND 

LONDON 
PRICE  35  CENTS 


COPYRIGHT  1917,  BY  KATE  DOUGLAS  WIGGIN 


TS 

3322 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 


This  is  an  elaborately  revised  and  extended  ver- 
sion ot  "  The  Old  Peabody  Pew  ",  and  is  fully  pro- 
tected by  copyright. 

Permission  to  act,  read  publicly,  or  make  any  use 
of  it  must  be  obtained  from  SAMUEL  FRENCH,  28- 
50  West  38th  Street,  New  York. 

It  may  be  presented  by  amateurs  upon  payment  of 
royalty  of  five  dollars,  each  performance  payable 
TO  Samuel  French  three  days  before  the  date  when 
the  play  is  given. 

Professional  rates  quoted  on  application. 

The  tnithor  suggests  that  there  be  no  really 
eccentric  dressing  of  the  characters.  Use  old- 
fashioned  costumes  of  twenty,  thirty  or  forty  years 
a^o:  Nit  the  moment  that  the  costuming  is  over- 
done the  play  suffers  in  consequence. 

Whenever  this  play  is  to  be  produced  the  follow- 
ing note  must  appear  on  all  programs,  printing  and 
advertising  for  the  play : 

This  play  is  a  dramatization  by  Kate  Douglas 
Wi^rHn  of  her  own  story  entitled  "  THE  OLD  PEA- 
BODY  PF.^V  ".  and  it  is  produced  by  special  arrange- 
ment w'th  SAMUEL  FRENCH  of  New  York. 


vfitq  »iK  • 

•^*~.-7f<'S'!    *;    f: 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 


(WRITTEN  PRINCIPALLY  FOR  USE  IN  OLD-FASHIONED 
CHURCHES.) 

Wing  pews  right  and  left  and  a  pulpit  platform 
connecting  them  furnish  the  stage.  The  wing 
pews  must  be  kept  vacant  -for  the  use  of  the 
players.  The  pulpit  may  be  removed  or  set  back 
close  to  the  wall.  The  three  pulpit  chairs,  with 
other  plain  wooden  ones  of  old-fashioned  style, 
furnish  seats  for  the  Carpet  Committee.  The 
audience  must  be  put  in  the  right  spirit  and 
given  a  general  knowledge  of  the  story  by  hear- 
ing the  following  extracts  from  the  book.  The 
sexton  rings  the  church  bell  three  times,  and 
then  three  times  again  to  preface  the  appearance 
of  the  reader.  This  is  very  important  as  the  play 
needs  no  curtain  and  can  even  dispense  with  foot- 
lights. The  ringing  of  the  church  bell  fixes  the 
attention  of  the  audience  and  sets  the  key  for  the 
performance. 

THE  READER 

"  Among  the  other  hills  of  Edgewood,  Tory  Hill 
holds  its  own  for  peaceful  beauty,  and  on  its  broad 
summit  sits  the  white-painted  meeting  house. 

The  old  church  has  had  a  dignified  past,  dating 
from  that  day  in  1761  when  young  Paul  Coffin  re- 
ceived his  call  to  preach  at  a  stipend  of  fifty  pounds 
sterling  a  year.  But  that  was  over  a  hundred  and 
fifty  years  ago  and  much  has  happened  since.  The 
chastening  hand  of  time  has  lain  somewhat  heavily 


6  THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 

on  the  town  as  well  as  on  the  parish.  When  the 
sexton  rings  the  bell  nowadays,  on  a  Sunday  morn- 
ing, it  seems  to  have  lost  some  of  its  old-time 
strength,  something  of  its  courage ;  but  it  still  rings, 
and  although  the  Davids  and  Solomons,  the  Mat- 
thews and  Marks,  of  former  congregations  have  left 
few  male  descendants  to  perpetuate  their  labors,  it 
will  go  on  ringing  as  long  as  there  is  a  Tabitha,  a 
Dorcas,  a  Lois,  or  a  Eunice  left  in  the  community. 

This  sentiment  had  been  maintained  for  a  quarter 
of  a  century,  but  it  was  now  especially  strong  in 
Edgewood,  as  the  old  Tory  Hill  Meeting  House 
had  been  undergoing  for  several  years  more  or  less 
extensive  repairs. 

Mrs.  Jeremiah  Burbank  was  the  president  of  the 
local  Dorcas  Society,  and  under  her  progressive  rule 
there  had  been  a  new  chimney,  a  new  furnace  and 
a  cabinet  organ.  The  greatest  struggle  of  all  had 
been  for  the  women  to  earn  enough  money  to  shingle 
the  roof,  which  had  persisted  in  leaking  for  nearly 
half  a  century  in  spite  of  all  expert  advice  and 
suggestion  from  the  male  members  of  the  parish. 
The  leaks  were  finally  stopped  and  the  Dorcas 
sisters  leaned  back  in  their  rocking-chairs,  draw- 
ing deep  breaths  of  satisfaction.  This  temporary 
suspension  of  responsibility  continued  until  a  visitor 
from  a  neighboring  city  was  heard  to  remark  that 
the  Tory  Hill  Meeting  House  ^vould  be  one  of  the 
most  attractive  churches  in  the  state  if  only  it  were 
suitably  carpeted. 

At  the  next  meeting  the  Dorcases  wearily  took 
out  their  lead  pencils,  and  when  they  had  multiplied 
the  surface  of  the  floor  by  the  price  of  carpet  per 
yard,  each  Dorcas  attaining  a  result  entirely  different 
from  all  the  others,  Jthere  was  a  shriek  of  dismay, 
for  the  product  would  have  dismayed  a  Croesus ! 
Time  sped  and  efforts  increased,  but  the  Dorcases 
were  at  length  obliged  to  content  themselves  with 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW  7 

carpeting  the  pulpit  platform  and  steps,  their  own 
pews,  the  choir  and  the  two  aisles,  leaving  the  floor 
in  the  remaining  pews,  and  the  cushions  for  them, 
until  some  future  year,  unless  certain  prosperous  or 
energetic  parishioners,  yielding  to  the  force  of  ex- 
ample, should  carpet  and  cushion  their  own  pews. 

How  the  women  cut  and  contrived  and  matched 
that  hardly  bought  ingrain  carpet,  in  the  short 
December  afternoons  that  ensued  after  the  pur- 
chase ;  so  that,  having  failed  to  be  ready  for 
Thanksgiving,  it  could  be  finished  for  the  Christmas 
festivities ! 

Many  of  you  have  belonged  to  such  a  band  of 
faithful  workers  and  when,  in  a  moment,  you  see 
and  hear  them  talking  as  they  cut  and  stitch  and  sew 
it  will  seem  like  a  little  page  of  life  opened  before 
your  eyes ! 

The  love  story  too,  that  is  hinted  at  in  the  first 
act  as  having  begun  in  the  church  long  ago,  will  be 
finished  in  your  presence.  Is  there  anything  strange 
or  out  of  place  in  that? 

Is  it  not  possible  that  many  and  many  a  modest 
romance  has  begun  and  grown  under  the  shadow  of 
this  old  steeple  ;  one  quite  unlike  that  of  this  author 
perhaps,  but  still  a  romance  ?  That  of  Kate  Douglas 
Wiggin  is  an  imaginary  one  of  the  meeting  and  the 
parting  of  two  undeclared  lovers ;  the  secret  wait- 
ing of  the  woman,  the  hopeless  struggle  of  the  man, 
and  the  glad  reunion  of  the  two  in  the  house  of  the 
Lord,  where  their  friendship  had  blossomed  into 
love. 


Here  the  Reader  leaves  the  printed  text  and  speaks 
the  following  lines. 

So  run  the  opening  chapters  of  the  book. 
Now  at  the  background  will  you  take  a  look? 


8  THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 

There  is  the  Peabody  Pew — the  right  wing,  Number 

Two 

(It's  all  pure  fiction,  any  pew  would  do!)  ; 
And  this  the  very  church,  or  so  we'll  make  believe; 
And  now  for  you  the  romance  we  will  weave 
Of  brightly  colored  threads  with  those  of  gray, 
Ending,  like  all  true  love  tales,  in  the  nicest  way. 
The  Dorcas  members  are  the  real  thing,  though; 
When  Duty  calls  they  never  answer  "  No." 
Listen!  they'll  all  be  here  in  just  a  minute! 
You'll  see  the  play  and  likewise  you'll  be  in  it ! 
You  are  the  congregation ;  do  your  share ; 
We'll  act  as  if  you  really  were  not  there! 
Attention,  please !     The  second  bell  you'll  hear, 
And  straightway  then  the  players  will  appear. 

[The  sexton  rings  the  church  bell  three  times. 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 



'  •!• 

ACT  I 
CHARACTERS 

THE  CARPET  COMMITTEE  of  the  Edgewood  Dorcas 

Society : 

MRS.  BAXTER,  the  minister's  wife. 
MRS.  BURBANK,  president  of  the  Dorcas  Society. 
MRS.  MILLER,  wife  of  Deacon  Miller,  the  sexton. 
MRS.  SARGENT,  a  village  historian. 
THE  WIDOW  BUZZELL,  willing  to  take  a  second 

risk. 

Miss  LOBELIA  BREWSTER,  who  is  no  lover  of  men. 
Miss  MARIA  SHARP,  quick  of  speech,  sound  of 

heart. 
Miss  NANCY  WENTWORTH,  who  has  waited  for 

her  romance  ten  years 

and 

JUSTIN  PEABODY,  sole  living  claimant  to  the  old 
Peabody  pew. 

[One  of  the  entrance  doors  of  the  church  (both  of 
cor.rse  being  behind  the  audience}  opens  audibly, 
end  MRS.  IERE  BURBANK  conies  bustling  in,  zvith 
LOBELIA  BREWSTER  well  in  the  rear.  The  voices 
are  loud,  as  in  an  empty  church. 

MRS.  BURBANK  (halfway  up  the  aisle,  calls  back)  : 
Shut  the  door  after  you,  Lobelia !     Deacon  Miller's. 

9 


10  THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 

made  us  a  good  fire ;  the  church  feels  real  com- 
fortable, and  we  want  to  keep  it  so  if  we  can,  with 
the  committee  comin'  in  every  ten  minutes. 

LOBELIA  BREWSTER  (coining  in,  and  up  the  aisle)  : 
"We're  trie  first,  as  usual !  Maria  Sharp's  got  the 
;  key,  and  promised  to  be  here  at  two  o'clock.  I  don't 
know  what  we'd  do  if  we  couldn't  unlock  the  church 
door  with  a  hairpin,  new-4hafr  the  minister  has  these 
^pew^angled  notions  against  keepin'  the  key  under 
a  brick  by  the  steps.  ' 

-  MRS.  BURBANK  (ascending  platform,  where  there 
are  chairs  and  several  heaps  of  carpeting  on  which 
work  has  evidently  been  done  the  previous  day)': 
I  don't  know  as  it  pays  to  be  first,  anywheres, 
Lobelia. 

LOBELIA  (following  her)  :  I  guess  it  does,  Mrs. 
Burbank.  Perhaps  that's  the  reason  you're  the 
Dorcas  president. 

MRS.  BURBANK  :  I  never  could  make  out  the 
reason,  so  perhaps  that  is  it !  I've  got  to  take  off 
my  hat ;  I  can't  ever  seem  to  do  good  sewing  with 
it  on.  --GaiFyeti? 

(Smooths  her  hair) 

LOBELIA  (taking  her  hat  off)  :  Yes;  I  don't  mind. 
I  could  sew  as  well  as  some  of  the  Dorcas  members 
if  I  took  my  head  off! 

MRS.  BURBANK  (laughing)  :  You  might  say  that 
of  quilting;  but  I  guess  the  most  of  us  are  equal  to 
earpct-  sewing,  Lobelia/  ( They  take  off  wraps  and 
put  on  aprons.  MRS.  BURBANK  looks  toward  door) 
Here  comes  Mrs.  Miller.  (Calling  down  the  aisle)  : 
Close  the  door  quick,  Sarah  Ellen!  There's  an 
awful  draught! 

{MRS.  MILLER  bustles  up  the  other  aisle. 

MRS.  MILLER  :  Why,  I  thought  I'd  be  first.  You 
been  here  long,  girls? 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW  II 

LOBELIA  (getting  ready  for  work):  Oh,  no! 
Not  more'n  a  couple  of  hours. 

MRS.  MILLER  (taking  off  wraps  and  putting  on 
apron)  :  A  couple  of  hours!  That's  good!  You 
will  have  your  joke,  Lobelia !  Mis'  Sargent  is  right 
behind  me,  just  coming  over  the  brow,  of  the  hill,  and 
the  minister's  wife'll  be  here  soon. 

LOBELIA  :  Well  I  declare,  she's  too  good  to  last, 
Mis'  Baxter  is !  I  don't  know  what  the  Lord  was 
thinhin'  about  when  He  sent  us  a  minister  that  could 
preach,  and  a  wife  that  would  work ! 

MRS.  MILLER  (taking  a  position  where  her  speech 
•can  be  heard)  :  And  a  perfect  lady  besides !  Yes.; 
I  consider  we're  fixed  for  time  and  eternity,  if  only 
the  Baxters'll  stay,  i'm  so  afraid  -he-'ii-get  ' 'arfiefter 
call  that  I  always  want  to  cover  him  up  with  a 
tablecloth  whenever  a  stranger  comes  into  meeting. 

[Constant  business,  to  be  worked  out  at  rehearsal: 
taking  off  wraps  and  hats  and  hanging  them  over 
pews;  putting  on  aprons;  taking  out  workbags; 
and  settling  down  to  work,  but  not  so  soon  as  to 
make  a  long,  monotonous  scene  of  sewing. 

MRS.  BURBANK  (Who  is  now  sewing)  :  I  feel 
just  the  same  as  you  do  about  the  Baxters.  Of 
course,  my  being  away  from  the  village  for  a  few 
years,  I  lost  track  of  some  of  the  ministers. 

LOBELIA  (sewing)  :  Well,  you  didn't  miss  much. 
Some  of  'em  was  good  ministers,  and  some  of  'em 
was  good  men,  but  hardly  one  of  'em  was  both. 
And  that  last  one  never  even  got  'round  to  being  a 
human  creeter!  He  was  a  tip-top  preacher  and 
when  he  came  to  sociables  and  picnics,  always  lookin' 
kind  o'  like  the  potato  blight,  I  used  to  think  how 
complete  he'd  be  if  only  he  had  a  foldin'  pulpit  under 
"his  coat-tails.  They  make  foldin'  beds  nowadays, 


12  THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 

an'  I  s'pose  they  could  make  foldin'  pulpits  if  there 
was  a  market  for  'em. 

[Enter  MRS.  SARGENT. 

MRS.  SARGENT  (bustling  up  aisle  quickly}  :  Fold- 
in'  pulpits !  (Slight  pause  while  the  interest  of  her 
entrance  holds  the  audience}  Land  sakes,  I  hope 
there  won't  be !  I'm  no  friend  to  foldin'  beds ;  but 
if  they  should  invent  a  foldin'  pulpit,  the  world 
would  be  duller  than  'tis  now ! 

[Enter  MARIA  SHARP  by  the  aisle  on  the  other  side. 

MARIA:  What's  that  about  foldin'  pulpits?  I 
hope  the  Dorcas  Society  ain't  goin'  into  that  busi- 
ness! 

MRS.  BURBANK  :  No  danger !  Did  you  shut  the 
outside  door,  Maria? 

MARIA:  'Course  I  did.  I  met  Mr.  Baxter  just 
comin'  from  the  Post-office.  He  had  a  letter  in  his 
hand  for  Nancy  \Ventworth.  If  she  stops  to  read  it 
she  won't  get  her  share  o'  carpet  done. 

MRS.  MILLER  :  She'll  stay  later,  then ;  she  always 
does.  (With  meaning,  to  the  others}  :  Say!  The 
minister  took  her  a  letter  yesterday,  so  that  makes 
two,  now,  this  week.  Mis'  Buzzell's  brother  in 
Berwick  says  she  had  considerable  attention  when 
she  visited  there  last  winter.  I  hope  we  ain't  goin' 
to  lose  her. 

MRS.  SARGENT  :  No  danger !  We  shan't !  When 
a  girl's  so  young  she  hasn't  got  any  mind  it's  easy 
enough  for  her  to  make  it  up.  When  she  gets  to 
the  thinkin'  age  it's  a  dif 'rent  pair  o'  shoes ! 

MARIA  :    That's  so !    As  I  can  testify. 

LOBELIA  :  Yes ;  if  you  once  get  to  comparin'  men 
you  might  as  well  give  up  all  idea  of  gettin'  married. 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW  13 

Mebbe  there's  a  little  difference  in  men-folks  but  I 
guess  there  ain't  any  in  husbands ! 

MRS.  MILLER:  I  never  thought  Nancy  had  given 
up  hope.  She  wears  red  an'  I  always  think  that's  a 
sign. 

MRS.  BURBANK  (with  a  smile)  I  think  Nancy's 
red  cape  just  suits  her.  It  shows  cheerfulness  and 
courage. 

MARIA  (has  been  taking  off  her  rubbers  and  un- 
pinning the  skirt  of  her  dress  during  the  last  speeches. 
She  is  now  putting  many  pins  into  her  mouth,  and 
then  sticking  them  into  her  waist}  :  Well,  Nancy'd 
better  get  what  attention  she  can  in  Berwick. 
There's  none  to  spare  hereabouts ;  and  what  there 
is  Jane  Buzzell  takes — when  she  can  get  it.  Some- 
times I  think  widders  are  worse'n  old  maids  that 
way. 

MRS.  SARGENT  :  There  was  plenty  of  attention 
for  Nancy  Wentworth  once,  for  she  was  about  the 
prettiest  girl  in  Edgewood.  She's  pretty  now ;  but 
she  has  a  sad  look  she  never  used  to  have  ten  years 
ago.  She  had  no  eyes  for  anyone  but  Justin  Pea- 
body  then. 

LOBELIA  :  Humph  !  Men's  eyes  don't  always  face 
the  same  way  as  women's. 

MRS.  MILLER  (sewing,  but  speaking  so  as  to  get 
everybody's  attention}  :  Well,  if  Justin  Peabody 
hadn't  gone  away  from  Edgewood  and  stayed  away 
I  always  thought  that  would'have  been  a  match. 
Nancy  never  let  on  a  word  to  a  soul,  from  first  to 
last :  but  all  the  same,  everybody  could  see  she  was 
in  love  with  Justin,  and  he  with  her,  from  the  time 
they  was  tall  enough  to  sing  out  o'  the  same  hymn 
book. 

MRS.  SARGENT  :  Well  of  course  Justin  wasn't  in  a 
position  to  offer  marriage  to  any  girl,  those  days. 

LORELTA  :  I  never  heard  that  men  folks  felt  they 
had  to  oiler  anything  but  marriage  to  a  girl !  They 


generally  think  that's  enough,  without  mentioning 
such  triflin'  inducements  as  board  an'  clothes ! 

MRS.  MILLER  :  Well  if  he  had  offered,  and  she'd 
taken  him,  Nancy  would  'a'  been  'a'  real  helpmate. 
She  wouldn't  'a'a  leaned  too  hard  on  any  man. 

MARIA  :  Nobody  could  have  leaned  on  Justin 
Peabody  without  tippin'  him  over.  I  always  liked 
him,  but  he  wa'n't  very  stiff  backed,  Justin  wa'n't! 
•  MRS.  SARGENT  :  Sh-sh !  There's  Nancy  now, 
corning  in  with  the  minister's  wife. 

ALL:     Hush-sh-sh! 

[MRS.    BAXTER    and    NANCY    WENT  WORTH    enter 
from  another  door  than  the  first  one  used. 

ALL:  How  d'ye  do,  Nancy.  Good  afternoon, 
Mis'  Baxter. 

NANCY  (brightly)  :  How  d'ye  do,  all!  Sorry  to 
be  late,  but  I'll  make  it  up  by  sewing  longer. 

[MARIA  begins  sewing.  She  is  seated  on  a  corner  of 
the  platform  in  order  to  break  up  the  stiff  line  of 
chairs. 

MRS.  BAXTER:  So  will  I.  My  custard  curdled, 
and  I  had  to  run  over  to  Nancy's  and  borrow  an- 
other egg.  (Ascending  platform  steps)  •  Excuse 
my  best  dress,  ladies.  The  minister's  bringing 
home  company  to  sifpper  to-night. 

MRS.  BURBANK  :  Don't  apologize  !  We're  glad 
enough  to  see  you,  Mrs.  Baxter,  if  you  don't  take 
a  stitch. 

[MRS.  BURBANK  shakes  hands.  Gives  MRS.  BAXTEB. 
her  chair  and  takes  another. 

ALL:     Yes,  indeed! 

MRS.  BAXTER:    Thank  you. 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW  15 

LOBELIA  :  And  tell  us  how  to  make  custard  with 
one  egg.  I  always  want  two ;  but  my  hens  act  as  if 
they'd  never  heard  o'  custard. 

[NANCY  seats  herself  and  lifts  two  lengths  of  carpet. 

•-A^ARiA  (standing  suddenly,  and  speaking  forcibly, 
with  gesture)  :  Sakes  alive !  Don't  take  that  strip, 
Nancy!  (NANCY  starts- at-  MARIA'S  sudden  speech} 
Jane  Buzzell  sewed  there  last  time,  and  the  carpet'll 
fall  right  to  pieces  in  your  hands  !  You  know  her ! 
She  said  jshe-'was  depending  on  the  tack  hammer  to 

work. 

JANCY:  -Ok^  1 11  T  lUinlf  T'tt'M'ilrlfc  .  .  . 
I  don't  believe  we've  got  more  than  an  hour's  sew- 
ing left,  do  you,  Mrs.  Burbank? 

MRS.  BURBANK  :  I  don't  think  so.  ...  Oh ! 
How  I  wish  we'd  had  the  money  to  buy  enough 
carpet  for  the  whole  floor  at  once !  Sometimes  I 
think  our  Carpet  Committee  did  wrong  to  set  the 
example  and  carpet  their  own  pews  and  leave  the 
others  bare.  Just  stand  up,  girls,  and  look  at  'em. 

[  Each  one  rises  as  she  speaks,  holding  work.    Then, 
pointing  in  turn : 

MRS.  MILLER:  There's  mine; — pink  and  blue 
Brussels. 

MRS.  BURBANK:  Mine's  striped  stair  carpeting, 
but  I'm  not  a  mite  ashamecf  of  it. 

MRS.  SARGENT:  Mine  is  straw  matting;  but  it's 
nice  and  new. 

MARIA:  Mine's  a  breadth  of  my  parlor  tapestry. 
'Tain't  exactly  a  church  pattern  but  it  cost  three 
dollars  a  yard  thirty  years  ago ! 

LOBELLIA  :  Look  at  mine  !  Red  was  all  I  had,  and 
I  could  pick  out  my  pew  from  the  meeting-house 
common.  The  floor  looks  like  Joseph's  coat ! 

MRS,  BARTER  (graciously)  :     I  mustn't  be  proud 


1 6  THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 

if  mine  is  new  and  like  the  aisle  strips,  for  the 
Dorcas  Society  gave  it  to  me. 

MRS.  MILLER:  Well,  you  deserve  the  best,  Mis' 
Baxter.  (Patting  Mrs.  'Baxter's  shoulder;  all  nod 
in  agreement) 

NANCY  (affectionately)  :  So  she  does!  I'm  going 
to  bring  mine  over  and  lay  it  after  supper ;  it's  all 
made.  Who's  going  to  tack  down  this  piece? 

(They  all  sit) 

-  MRS.  MILLER:  The  deacon  and  Mr.  Burbank 
and  Lobelia's  father  are  coming  in  and  try  all  the 
lamps  to-night ;  so  they  said  they'd  tack  down  the 
platform  carpet  then.  That'll  be  a  mercy!  We 
wouldn't  have  any  trouble  if  we  only  had  more  men 
folks  to  help  along. 

LOBELIA  (standing  to  shake  her  skirt)  :  Or  else 
none  at  all !  If  it  wan't  for  dogs  an'  dark  nights  I 
shouldn't  care  if  I  never  saw  a  man.  It's  havin'  so 
few  that  keeps  us  all  stirred  up.  If  there  wa'n't  any 
anywheres,  we'd  have  women  deacons  and  carpenters 
and  painters,  and  get  along  first  rate,  for  somehow 
the  supply  o'  women  always  holds  out,  same  as  it 
does  with  caterpillars  an'  grasshoppers. 

(All  laugh) 

MRS.  SARGENT:  My  goodness  Lobelia!  Your 
tongue  cuts  both  ways  like  a  new-fangled  bread- 
knife. 

MARIA  :  What's  the  good,  anyway,  of  our  slaving 
ourselves  to  death  to  buy  carpeting  for  all  the  pews 
when  half  of  'em  are  never  set  in? 

[Somewhere  during  this  conversation  NANCY  must 
touch  some  letters  carried  in  her  little  workbag, 
as  if  she  were  thinking  of  them.  The  audience 
will  note  this. 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW  17 

MRS.  SARGENT  (shaking  her  head  sadly  and  con- 
fwMm<7)j^_People  don't  take  church  going  sc 
seriCuslyas  they  used  to.. 

LOBELIA:  Most  of  'em  take  it  so  seriously  they 
stay  to  home ! 

[MRS.  BURBANK  has  risen  and  moved  to  borrow 
some  thread.  She  stands,  threading  needle  and 
waxing  thread,  and  is  in  a  position  to  speak 
eloquently,  her  last  sentences  being  a  good-natured 
imitation  of  a  Dorcas  Society  meeting. 

MRS.  BURBANK  (to  MARIA)  :  Don't  lose  heart, 
Maria.  You  know  you'd  be  the  last  to  let  the  floor 
go  uncarpeted,  or  have  the  church  closed.  (Speak- 
ing to  the  whole  committee)  :  We've  said  dozens  of 
times  to  one  another  that  we  would  stand  by  this  old 
meeting  house  and  keep  it  from  rack  and  ruin.  Our 
grandfathers  and  our  grandmothers  have  wor- 
shipped under  this  roof.  Then  isn't  it  our  part  to 
keep  it  tight  against  wind  and  weather?  Our 
fathers  and  mothers  trod  this  floor.  Doesn't  that 
make  it  a  sacred  spot  to  us?  This  church  was 
handed  down  to  us  a  hundred  and  fifty  years 
ago  as  a  precious  heritage,  and  we're  going  to  hand 
it  down  to  the  children,  in  our  turn,  sweet  and  clean, 
and  good  and  sound.  (With  a  smile  and  quick 
-  change  of  manner}  :  All  in  favor,  manifest  it  by 
the  usual  sign.  Contrary  minded?  It  is  a  vote! 

[All  the  women's  right  hands  are  raised,  and 
laughter  and  applause  follow.  MRS.  BURBANK 
sits. 

NANCY:     Good,  Mrs.  Burbank! 
MRS.  SARGENT  (rising  as  at  a  meeting)  :    There  ' 
never  are  any  contrary  minded  when  Mis'  Burbank's 


18  THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 

\in  the  chair.    We  can't  work  too  hard  for  our  dear 
Id  church ! 

[RS.  BAXTER  (rising)  :  And,  being  the  House 
of  \rod,  we  are  going  to  take  as  good  care  of  it,  at 
leasty  as  we  take  of  our  own  houses,  and  have  as 
muchXpride  in  it. 
{Sits) 

MRS.  ^BURBANK  :  (Aside)    Isn't  she  lovely? 
M.ARiA\(zviping  her  eyes):     I  know!     I'd  work 
my  fingers\  to  the  bone — only  I  do  get  discouraged. 
.     .     .     Nancy,  let's  sing  something.    That'd  make 
the  sewing  go  easier. 

NANCY  :    Shall  we  sing  "  Siloam  "  ? 

[A  second's  paiise  of  quiet  sewing,  to  change  the 
mood,  then  NANCY  starts  the  hymn.  The  women 
sing  very  softly,  without  accompaniment.  The 
hymn  may  be  easily  arranged  for  sopranos  and 
first  and  second  contraltos.] 

"  By  cool  Siloam's  .shady  rill, 

How  fair  the  lily  grows ; 
How  sweet  the  breath  beneath  the  hill, 

Of  Sharon's  dewy  rose ! 

Dependent  on  Thy  bounteous  breath, 

We  seek  Thy  grace  alone, 
In  childhood,  manhood,  age,  a'nd  death, 

To  keep  us  still  Thine  own."\ 

MRS.  MILLER  (after  the  voices  have  died  away, 
looking  around  the  church)  :  That's  a  good  hymn! 
It  always  kind  o'  rests  me !  Oh,  if  only  we  could 
have  had  the  pews  painted  before  we  laid  the  carpet ! 

MRS.  BAXTER:  I  never  noticed  how  scarred  and 
dirty  they  were  till  we  began  to  make  improvements. 

NANCY  :  The  hymn  made  me  think  of  the  story 
about  the  poor  old  woman  and  the  lily.  Do  you 
remember  ? 

MRS.  BAXTER  :    I  don't  think  I  do. 

NANCY:     Someone  gave  her  an  Easter  lily,  and 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW  19 

she  set  it  in  a  glass  pitcher  on  the  kitchen  table. 
After  looking  at  it  for  a  few  minutes,  she  got  up 
from  her  chair  and  washed  the  pitcher  until  the  glass 
shone.  Sitting  down  again,  she  glanced  at  the 
window.  She  had  forgotten  how  dusty  it  was,  and 
she  took  her  cloth  and  burnished  the  panes.  Then 
shj  scoured  the  table,  then  the  floor,  then  blacked 
th-'  stove  before  she  sat  down  to  her  knitting.  And 
of  course  the  lily  had  done  it  all — just  showing  by 
its  whiteness  how  grimy  everything  else  was. 

MRS.  BAXTER  :  -Thut'u  ~t»  true,  ao  tho  goopcl, 
NaiiLyt"  And  I  can  see  how  one  thing  has  led  to 
another  in  making  the  church  comfortable.  But 
my  husband  says  that  two  coats  of  paint  on  the 
pews  would  cost  more  than  we  can  afford  just  now. 

MARIA  (standing  suddenly  on  the  steps  of  the 
pulpit  platform)  :  See  here!  How  about  cleaning 
'em  ?  I  don't  believe  they've  had  a  good  hard  wash- 
ing since  the  Flood. 

LOBELIA  :  What,  Maria  ?  You  don't  mean  the 
Dorcas  to  scrub  'em  ? 

NANCY:  We've  done  everything  else — why 
shouldn't  we  scrub?  There's  nothmg  against  it  in 
the  Orthodox  creed,  is  there,  Mrs.  Baxter? 

MRS.  BA^ER  (smiling)  :  Why,  no.  .Eezelciarj 
himself  "  cleaned  the  temple,"  so  the^Bible  says,  you 
know. 

MRS.  SARGENT  (ft^tipfiantly)  :  So  he  did! 
Don't  that  beat  all  for  a  coincidence? 

LOBELIA  (poking  her  neighbor)  :  I  guess  if  there 
was  any  real  scrubbing  Mrs.  Hezekiah  done  it! 

^General  laughter  and  Meds-of-appr&va-l) 

MRS.  BURBANK:  I  declare,  girls,  we  could  do  it! 
Or,  at  any  rate,  we  could  wipe  off  the  worst  of  'em. 
I  saw  Deacon  Miller  had  two  pots  o'  water  on  the 
stove,  and  plenty  of  cloths,  ready  to  wash  the  lamp 


20  THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 

chimneys  to-night.     We  could  use  'em  well's  not, 
and  then  get  some  more  ready  for  the  men  folks. 

MRS.  SARGENT  :  I  wish  Jane  Buzzell  would  come. 
She  ain't  much  on  fine  sewing,  but  she's  certainly 
an  elegant  scrubber. 

[The  WIDOW  BUZZELL,  middle-aged  and  -very  at- 
tractive, slams  the  outside  door  and  comes  up  the 
aisle,  speaking  in  a  loud  and  genial  voice. 

MRS.  BUZZELL:  Well,  here  I  am!  Who's  talkin' 
about  my  bein'  an  elegant  scrubber? 

CHORUS  :  All  of  us. 

MRS.  BUZZELL  :  I  bet  that  compliment  had  an 
under  side  to  it.  Didn't  the  sexton  scrub  the  plat- 
form ? 

NANCY  :  Yes.  But  we're  going  to  wipe  down  the 
paint  on  some  o'  the  worst  pews. 

MRS.  BUZZELL:  Well,  why  don't  you?  And 
say  girls,  why  don't  you  scrub  the  steeple !  The 
weather  vane  looks  kind  o'  dusty  too.  But, I  don't 
care !  I'd  rather  scrub  than  sew,  any  day. 

LOBELIA  :  We  thought  so,  Jane,  by  your  com- 
ing at  three,  when  the  meeting  was  at  two ! 

MRS.  BUZZELL:  Mebbe  you  won't  be  so  free 
with  your  talk,  Lobelia,  when  you  hear  I  stayed  to 
home  frying  doughnuts  to  bring  over  here  to  kind 
o'  hearten  us  up.  .  .  .  How  you  gettin'  on  ? 

MRS.  BURBANK  :  We've  about  finished  sewing, 
Jane. 

MRS.  BUZZELL:     I'm  glad  of  that! 

(General  laughter) 

MRS.  MILLER  (to  MRS.  BURBANK)  :  Then  sup- 
pose you  take  my  piece,  Elvira,  and  let  me  go  and 
get  the  water. 

LOBELIA  :  I'm  through  with  my  piece  so  I'll  go 
too.  If  we've  got  to  scrub  let's  begin  before  dark; 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW  21 

though  I  guess  we  could  see  the  dirt  fast  enough  any 
time  o'  night ! 

MARIA  :  I  brought  along  some  cloths  and  towels 
for  the  men-folks,  and  left  'em  in  the  back  o'  the 
church.  They'll  come  in  good. 

[MARIA  leaves  platform  after  MRS.  MILLER  and 
LOBELIA.  MRS.  BUZZELL  turns  in  the  aisle  and 
joins  them.  They  go  down  the  aisle  and  dis- 
appear quietly  to  the  place  where  the  stove  pre- 
sumably is.  This  leaves  MRS.  BURBANK,  MRS. 
BAXTER,  MRS.  SARGENT  and  NANCY  on  the  plat- 
form, first  finishing  their  pieces  of  work,  and  then 
clearing  up.  This  gives  opportunity  for  quiet  con- 
versation about  former  times  and  the  old  Peabody 
pew.  Both  here  and  in  the  conversation  preceding 
NANCY'S  entrance  the  love  story  must  be  clearly 
given  to  the  audience.] 

NA.NCY  (has  folded  her  work,  starts  to  go  down 
to  the  Peabody  pew)  :  There  is  nobody  here  to 
clean  the  right-wing  pews,  so  I  will  take  those. 

MRS.  BAXTER  :  You're  not  making  a  wise  choice, 
Nancy.  The  infant  class  sits  there,  you  know. 
Families  don't  seem  to  occupy  those  pews  nowadays, 
Mrs.  Burbank. 

MRS.  SARGENT  :  I  can  remember  when  every 
seat  in  the  whole  church  was  filled.  The  one  in 
front  was  always  called  the  "  deef  pew,"  and  all  the 
folks  that  was  hard  o'  hsarin'  used  to  set  there. 

?,!RS.  BAXTER:  The  front  wing  pew  hasn't  been 
occupied  since  I  came  here. 

MRS.  SARGENT  :  No ;  Squire  Bean's  folks  moved 
to  Portland.  The  one  back  o'  that  is  the  old  Pea- 
body  pew — where  you're  standing,  Nancy,  ain't  it? 

NANCY  (turning  her  face  away)  :  I  believe  so; 
it's  so  Icn^  a^o  I  can  hardly  r~m°'^er. 

MRS.  SARGENT  :     I  know  'tis — because  the  aisle 


22  THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 

runs  right  up,  facin'  it.     I  can  see  old  Deacon  Pea- 
body  settin'  in  that  end,  same  as  if  'twas  yesterday. 

MRS.  DURBAN K  (standing  and  folding  carpet)  : 
He  had  died  before  Jere  and  I  came  back  to  live. 
In  my  time  Justin  Peabody  sat  in  the  end.  Esther, 
the  pretty  sister,  sat  next,- and  up  in  the  corner  Mrs. 
-  Peabody,  in  her  handsome  crepe  shawl.  You  used 
to  sit  with  them  sometimes,  Nancy.  You  and 
Esther  were  great  friends. 

NANCY:  Yes,  we  were.  (Lifting  the  old 
cushion):  Oh!  What's  the  use  of  scrubbing  and 
carpeting  when  there  are  only  six  hassocks  a«d 
twenty  cushions  in  the  whole  church !  I  must  mend 
this. 

LOBELIA  (coining  up  aisle  zuitli  pail  and  cloth,  and 
going  fo  front  of  left  wing}  :  I  shouldn't  trouble 
myself  to  darn  other  folks'  cushions. ^? 

MARIA  (joining  her,  and  begmning  to  wipe 
paint)  :  I  don't  know  why!  I'm  going  to  mend  my 
Aunt  Achsa's  cushion,  though  we  haven't  spoken 
together  for  twenty  years.  Hers  is  the  next  pew  to 
mine,  and  I'm  going  to  have  my  part  of  the  church 
look  decent,  even  if  she  is  too  stingy  to  touch  her 
own  pew.  Besides  there  aren't  any--J^eabodys  left 
to  do  their  own  darning,  and  Nancy  was  friends 
with  Esther. 

NANCY  :  Yes ;  it's  nothing  more  than  right — -«>% 
sidering  Esther. 

[MRS.  BUZZELL  has  come  up  the  aisle  with  a  basket 
of  doughnuts  in  one  hand  and  a  pail  in  the  other. 
Any  noise  with  pails,  or  any  violent  scrubbing 
must  be  avoided,  especially  when  one  of  the  char- 
acters has  a  "point  to"  make.} 

MRS.  BUZZELL:  Though  he  don't  belong  to  the 
scrubbin'  sex,  there  is  one  Peabody  alive,  as  you 
know,  if  you  stop  to  think,  Maria;  for  Justin's  alive. 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW  23 

and  livin'  out  West  somewheres.  At  least,  he's  as 
much  alive  as  ever  he  was :  he  was  as  good  as  dead 
when  he  was  twenty-one, — but  his  mother  was  al- 
ways too  soft-hearted  to  bury  him.  (NANCY  shozvs 
distress  at  the  description  of  her  former  lover.  A 
second's  pause}  Have  a  doughnut,  girls?  This  is 
the  contribution  basket.  It'll  be  kind  o'  pleasant  to 
take  something  out  of  it  once  in  a  while,  instead  of 
puttin'  in.  (She  passes  doughnuts) 

MRS.  BURBANK  :  I  know  Justin  Peabody's  alive 
and  doing  business  in  Detroit,  for  I  got  his  address 
ten  days  ago,  and  wrote  asking  him  if  he'd  like  to 
give  something  toward  repairing  the  old  church. 

MRS.  MILLER:    Hasn't  he  answered? 

[NANCY  tries  to  hide  her  interest  in  MRS.  BURBANK'S 
reply.  Then,  while  the  others  talk,  she  takes  the 
Bible  from  the  Peabody  pew  rack,  also  the  letter 
from  her  belt  or  her  pocket,  opens  the  envelope, 
and  standing  in  the  pew  so  that  she  may  be  seen, 
quickly  copies  the  quotations  from  a  certain 
gospel  referred  to  later.] 

MRS.  BURBANK:  Not  yet.  Folks  don't  hurry 
about  answering  when  you've  asked  'em  for  a  con- 
tribution. I  wrote  to  George  Wickham — he's  the 
mayor  of  Wells,  Montana.  WTiat  do  you  think  he 
sent  me?  (Suspense)  Fifty  cents.  (All  show 
amusement  or  amazement)  When  I  wrote  him  a 
receipt  I  felt  like  saying  what  Aunt  Polly  did  when 
the  neighbors  gave  her  a  little  piece  of  beef :  "  Ever 
so  much  obleeged — but  don't  forget  me  when  you 
come  to  kill  the  pig." 

(Laughter) 

'M^RS.- SARGENT  (calling  to  MRS.  BAXTER,  who  is 
moving  toward  one  of  the  pew  rails  in  the  right 
wing)  :  Don't  touch  James  Brace's  pew.  Mis' 


24  THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 

Baxter !  He  don't  worship  with  us  now.  He's 
turned  Second  Advent. 

MRS.  BAXTER  (good-naturedly)  :  Well,  the  pew's 
Orthodox,  Mrs.  Sargent,  and  it  needs  cleaning. 

MRS.  SARGENT:  I'll  do  it,  then.  He  was  in  my 
Sunday-school  class,  and  I  feel  responsible  for  him, 
though  he  was  Maria's  beau  one  time.  /(Points  this 
remark  at  MARIA,  who  is  standing  i/p  on  the  pew 
opposite  and  wiping  the  glass  of  the  windows)  They 
say  he's  going  to  marry  Mrs.  Sam  peters,  who  sings 
in  their  choir,  as  \oon  as  her/year's  up.  They 
make  a  perfect  fool  oj:  him  in  that  church. 

MARIA  (with  energ$\from  her  place  of  vantage}  : 
You  can't  make  a  fooPof  a/man  that  nature  ain't 
begun  with.  I  don't  want  Kim,  and  I  can't  see  that 
Mrs.  Peters  will  better  herself  much! 

MRS.  BUZZELL  (mounting  on  platform  and  wiping 
woodivork  of  pulpit  thairx,  where  she  is  in  a 
prominent  position):/!  don't  blame  her,  for  one! 
I  f  there's  anything  fuller  than  cookin'  three  meals 
a  day  for  yourself/and  settin'.down  and  eatin'  'em 
by  yourself,  and/ahen  gettin'  up  and  clearin'  'em 
away  after  yourself,  I'd  like  to  know  it.  I  shouldn't 
want  any  good/riookin',  pleasant-spoken  man  to  offer 
himself  to  me,  without  he  expected  to  be  snapped 
up — that's  all ! 

LOBELIA/  (at  work  on  some  of  the  front-pew 
rails)  :  You  needn't  explain,  Jane.  We  all  know 
you're  r>eady  to  take  a  second  risk. 

(Genial,  approval  from  all,  including  JANE  BUZZELL 

hcfself) 

Mfes.  SARGENT:  If  you've  made  out  to  get  one 
husband  in  this  county,  Jane,  you  can  thank  the 
— and  not  expect  any  more  favors. 

MRS.  BUZZELL   (cordially):     That's  so!     I  used 

think  my  Thomas  was  poor  company,  and  com- 
plain I  couldn't  have  any  conversation  with  him; 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW  25 

but  land !  I  could  talk  at  him,  and  there's  con- 
siderable comfort  in  that !  And  I  could  pick  up  after 
him\ 

M\s.  BAXTER  (now  standing  in  a  wing  pew  and 
iviping\glass  on  her  side}  :  It's  queer;  but  it  does 
seem  to\nake  life  worth  while  to  have  a  man  about 
the  house\o  take  steps  for  and  trot  'round  after. 

NANCY  :\Yes,  if  he's  a  good  one,  lik€  dear  Mr. 
Baxter. 

MRS.  BUZZELL  (wiping  and  dusting  on  pulpit 
platform}  :  Weil,  we  are  all  hurnXh  an'  it  don't  do 
to  be  too  partic'lkr.  There's  vtfst  three  husbands 
among  the  eight  wonien  scrubbin'  here  now,  and  ;he 
rest  of  us  's  all  old  maids  and  widders.  Nancy's  only 
housemate  is  a  cat.  That /don't  hardly  seem  right, 
but  what  can  you  do?  Nfto  wonder  the  men  folks 
move  away,  .ike  Justin  P'eabody.  A  place  with  such 
a  mess  o'  women- folk-£  ain't\healthy  to  live  in ! 

LOBELIA  (putting/ier  clothHn  a  pail  of  water  on 
a  prominent  corner  of  the  platform}  :  I've  no 
patience  with  m^n,  gallivantin'  oyer  the  earth !  I 
shouldn't  wantyfo  live  in  a  livelier  ^lace  than  Edge- 
wood,  seems /s  though.  We  wash\and  hang  out 
Mondays,  icon  Tuesdays,  cook  Wednesdays,  clean 
house  and  rner.d  Thursdays  and  Fridays,  bake  Satur- 
days, and/go  to  meetin'  Sundays.  As  there  ain't  but 
seven  days  in  a  week  I  don't  hardly  see  how  they 
can  dp  any  more'n  that  in  Chicago.  .  .  .  Nancy,  if 
you, 'scrub  any  harder  on  the  Peabody  pew  you'll 
ta)re  the  paint  off.  There !  I've  finished  my  share, 
^tfid  I'm  going  home  now. 

NANCY  :  This  is  the  third  pew  I've  done.  They 
look  pretty  clean  on  this  side,  Mrs.  Burbank.  I've 
got  to  come  back  after  supper  to  lay  my  own  pew 
carpet,  and  I'll  do  a  little  more  then,  if  you  say  so. 

MRS.  BURBANK:  Gracious,  no!  You've  done 
the  worst  ones,  anyhow.  You  must  all  be  real  tired. 
(Puts  on  wraps} 

MRS.  MILLER  (coming  forward}  :  Well,  'tain't 
precisely  a  novelty  to  scrub  a  church  Saturday 


26  THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 

afternoon,  when  you've  just  done  your  own  kitchen 

floor,  and  pantry,  and  shed ! 

(Looks  pointedly  at  LOBELIA,  then  getting  her  things 

together) 

MRS.  BAXTER:  Do  you  really  scrub  your  shed, 
Lobelia  ? 

MARIA  :  Land,  yes.  She  scrubs  her  hen-house, 
Lobelia  does. 

LOBELIA  :  Well,  there's  a  good  many  that  would 
bear  scrubbin' !  Good  night,  all.  (On  platform): 
I  declare,  now  that  I  look  at  the  floor,  il's  fairly 
unchristian,  with  our  spots  o'  carpet. 

MRS.  SARGENT  :  We've  done  our  best — and  let's 
hope  that  folks  will  look  up  and  not  down.  It  ain't 
as  if  they  was  goin'  to  set  in  the  chandelier.  Comer 
Mis'  Burbank,  we  must  be  goin'. 

MRS.  BUZZELL:  One  tiling  comforts  me,  and 
that  is,  the  Methodist  chapel  ain't  got  any  carpet  at 
all. 

MRS.  BAXTER  (playfully)  :  Mrs.  Buzzell !  Mrs. 
Buzzell ! 

MRS.  BUZZELL  :    I  only  mean,  now  they  can't  talk 
about  our  spots !    Come  on,  Maria.    I'm  goin'  home 
to  my  beans.     Only  me  to  eat  'em — and  plenty  for 
a  good,  hearty  man ! 
(Passes  dozvn  aisle) 

MRS.  SARGENT  (starting)  :  Aren't  you  coming, 
Nancy  ? 

NANCY:     Yes,  in  a  few  minutes. 

MRS.  SARGENT  (backing  down  the  aisle  and 
speaking  to  NANCY  and  MRS.  BAXTER)  :  You  just 
wait  and  see  if  the  Methodists  don't  say  they'd 
rather  have  no  carpet  at  all  than  one  that  don't  go 
all  over  the  floor.  I  know  'em ! 

[General  business  of  clearing  up,  getting  on  vvraps 
and  moving  toward  the  door  has  gone  on  during 
the  last  speeches.  Good-bys  from  all,  and  faint 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW  27 

chatter,  growing  fainter.  MRS.  BAXTER  is  thi 
last  in  line.  NANCY  is  putting  on  her  hat  and 
coat. 

NANCY  (calling  MRS.  BAXTER  back}:  Emily! 
Will  you  come  back  just  a  minute?  .  .  .  Do  you 
know  what  I  believe  I'll  do?  Christmas  and  New 
Year's  both  coming  on  Sunday  this  year,  there'll 
be  a  great  many  out  to  church.  Instead  of  putting 
down  my  own  carpet,  that'll  never  be  noticed,  I'll 
lay  it  in  the  old  Peabody  pew :  the  minister  always 
goes  up  that  side,  and  it  looks  so  forlorn ! 

MRS.  BAXTER  (beside  her,  at  entrance  to  Pea- 
body  pew}  :  I  think  that's  a  nice  idea,  Nancy.  The 
wing  pews  are  so  conspicuous,  and  they're  always- 
empty.  But  I  don't  like  to  have  you  come  back — 
the  church'll  be  so  cold. 

NANCY  :  Oh,  I'll  just  run  home  and  eat  my  beans- 
and  brown  bread,  and  come  back  with  the  carpet 
before  six  o'clock.  I'll  be  all  through  before  the 
men  come  in  to  work.  (Hesitatingly}  :  And — 
Emily!  (Goes  to  platform  hurriedly  and  finds 
ivorkbag  in  chair} 

MRS,  BAXTER  (turning}  :    Yes,  dear. 

NANCY  :  Come  here  a  minute.  I  want  to  show 
you  something.  (Sits  in  chair  on  corner  of  plat- 
form, MRS.  BAXTER  standing  beside  her  on  the' 
steps  below,  as  she  takes  two  letters  from  zvork- 
bag}  You  know  Mr.  Baxter  brought  me  a  letter 
from  New  York  yesterday,  and  I  told  you  it 
had  nothing  in  it  but  one  line,  and  no  signature :. 
"  Second  Epistle  of  John,  Verse  12."  I  looked  it 
up,  and  it's  this  (reads  from  back  of  an  envelope)  : 
"  Having  many  things  to  write  unto  you,  I  would  not 
write  with  paper  and  ink :  but  I  trust  to  come  unto 
you,  and  speak  face  to  face,  that  our  joy  may  be 
full."  (Speaking)  :  I  thought  at  first  it  was  frorrr 
that  Mrs.  Emerson  who  sang  in  the  choir  last  sum- 


,28  THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 

mer,  and  that  maybe  she  was  coming  back  for 
Christmas. 

MRS.  BAXTER:  She  was  a  good  Bible  scholar,  I 
remember.  Do  you  suppose  she  is  coming? 

NANCY:  I  don't  know;  but  I've  got  another 
letter  this  afternoon. 

MRS.  BAXTER:     Another f 

NANCY:  Here  it  is.  Isn't  it  queer?  It  says: 
""  Second  Epistle  of  John,  Verse  5."  I've  just 
copied  it  from  the  Bible  (reads  from  the  back 
of  another  envelope)  :  "  And  now  I  beseech  thee> 
lady,  not  as  though  I  wrote  a  new  commandment 
unto  thee,  but  that  which  we  had  from  the  begin- 
ning, that  we  love  one  another." 

{The  women  are  close  together  looking  at  each 
other) 

MRS.  BAXTER:  It  isn't  signed,  but  I'm  sure  it 
•isn't  Mrs.  Emerson.  The  handwriting  tells  no  tales, 
for  it's  like  print. —  (Searchingly)  :  Is  there  any- 
body else,  Nancy? 

NANCY:  No.  (Turning  her  head  and  speaking 
with  tears  in  her  -voice)  :  Once — once — I  thought 
there  might  be  (brushing  a  tear  away),  but  it  was 
long  ago — I've  put  it  quite  out  of  my  mind  and 
— there's  nobody  now. 

MRS.  BAXTER  (putting  her  arm  around  her) : 
There's  Mr.  Baxter,  and  me,  and — why,  Nancy, 
there's  the  whole  village !  Everybody  likes  you. 

NANCY:  I  know,  and  I'm  grateful;  and,  Emily 
(taking  both  her  hands,  and  speaking  with  a  sense 
of  humor),  of  course  you'd  rather  have  the  whole 
village  "  like  "  you  than — the  minister — "  love  " 
you,  wouldn't  you? 

MRS.  BAXTER  (with  an  affectionate  gesture) : 
Eorgive  me,  Nancy.  I  was  trying  to  say  the  com- 
forting thing;  but  I  know  that  it  wasn't  true.  I 
wouldn't  change  my  husband  for  a  thousand  villages. 

NANCY  :    I  thought  so.    Come  ;  we  must  be  going. 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW  29 

And  don't  fancy  I'm  really  unhappy;  I'm  not! 
(Takes  up  her  belongings}  I'm  used  to  it;  though 
the  letters  unsettled  me  somehow. 

[MRS.  BAXTER  starts  ahead  down  the  aisle  rather 
rapidly;  when  halfway  down  she  speaks  back 
without  turning. 

MRS.  BAXTER  :  You'll  have  to  bring  your  lantern 
when  you  come  back,  Nancy. 

NANCY  (settling  her  hat  and  buttoning  up  her  coat 
as  she  walks)  :  Yes,  and  my  tack  hammer,  and 
some  clean  cloths  and  towels  for  the  lamps. 

MRS.  BAXTER  (turning,  half  way  down  aisle): 
Why  not  come  to  supper  at  the  parsonage,  Nancy? 

NANCY  (joini/ig  her  and  speaking  so  as* to  be 
heard  plainly}  :  No,  Emily,  dear.  I've  got  to  feed 
my  cat !  The  minister  is  your  family — 'Zekiel's 
mine. 

[They  close  the  inside  door,  and  noisily  slam  the 
outside  one,  to  show  the  audience  they  have  left 
the  church. 

{Give  time  for  applause. 

[After  NANCY  and  the  minister's  wife  have  left 
the  church  there  is  a  minute's  pause,  after  which 
the  sexton  rings  the  church  bell  three  times,  then 
three  times  again.  Then  the  Reader  rises  from 
his  or  her  seat  in  the  front  "  body  pew,"  steps 
out  and  gives  the  second  extract  from  the  book, 
giving  a  hint  of  the  love  story  during  NANCY'S 
temporary  absence  from  the  scene. 

THE  READER 

"  While  Nancy  is  running  across  the  church  com- 
mon, eating  her  lonely  supper  and  feeding  ' 


30  THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 

the  cat,  her  only  housemate,  I  will  tell  you  a  little 
about  Justin,  the  only  living  claimant  to  the  old  Pea- 
body  pew. 

The  Edgewood  branch  of  the  Peabody  family 
were  all  of  unblemished  birth,  character  and  educa- 
tion, but  few  of  them  had  ever  made  good  in  busi- 
ness affairs. 

The  farm  dwindled  during  the  long  illness  of 
Justin's  father.  His  death  was  soon  followed  by 
that  of  Justin's  mother,  and  then  by  that  of  his 
frail  sister  Esther.  Justin,  though  only  twenty-one, 
struggled  to  maintain  the  home  acres  and  make  a 
living  on  them;  but,  although  pests  of  all  kinds 
flourished  on  his  land,  the  crops  never  did ! 

He  finally  left  the  farm  and  engaged  in  a  business 
in  the. nearest  city;  but  it  was  something  quite  un- 
suited  to  his  abilities  and  after  a  year  of  discourage- 
ment he  relinquished  that  hope  of  amassing  wealth. 

He  came  back  to  Edgewood  under  a  cloud  of 
depression,  convinced  himself  that  he  was  destined 
to  be  a  failure,  and  quite  upheld  in  his  opinion  by 
the  entire  neighborhood,  who  criticized  and  admon- 
ished him  until  he  was  sore  and  embittered. 

He  drew  his  slender  patrimony  from  the  bank 
and  left  the  village  without  a  good-by  to  anyone 
but  Nancy.  Even  that  was  a  stiff  and  formal  affair 
that  froze  the  heart  of  the  girl  who  loved  him,  and 
•who  believed  he  only  needed  to  be  helped  and 
cheered  to  achieve  something  worth  while. 

Justin  shook  Nancy's  hand  and  told  her  that  he 
was  off  for  the  West,  where  a  position  of  quite  un- 
known and  uncertain  character  awaited  him.  His 
own  heart  was  like  lead  in  his  breast ;  and  there  was 
something  in  his  throat  that  would  have  been  a  sob 
had  he  voiced  his  true  feeling ;  but  turning  at  the 
gate  of  Nancy's  house  he  lifted  his  hat  once  more 
and  said : 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW  31 

*'  Well !  You'll  see  me  back  when  my  luck  turns, 
Nancy !  " 

Even  that  brief  phrase  had  a  hint  of  explanation, 
a  hint  of  balm  in  it ;  and  on  that  balm  Nancy  Went- 
worth  had  lived,  for  no  messages  or  letters  ever 
came  to  supplement  it.  As  a  matter  of  fact  Justin's 
luck  never  had  turned  to  any  appreciable  extent. 

Once  in  the  ten  years  he  had  lost  money  in  an 
investment  that  bade  fair  to  round  out  his  too 
slender  salary.  He  had  nothing  to  offer  a  woman, 
and  his  pride  forbade  the  entangling  of  a  wife  in  his 
troubled  affairs.  He  always  hoped,  or  fancied  he 
noped,  that  Nancy  would  marry,  but  was  particularly 
glad  when  he  found  out  twice  in  his  ten  years'  ab- 
sence that  up  to  that  time  she  had  not. 

So  was  life  going  with  him  when  on  a  stormy 
night  in  December  he  was  walking  from  his  place 
of  business  toward  the  dreary  house  where  he  ate 
and  slept.  As  he  turned  the  corner  he  heard  a 
woman  say  to  another,  while  they  watched  a  man 
stumbling  down  the  street : 

"  Going  home  will  be  the  worst  of  all  for  him — 
to  find  nobody  there!  " 

That  was  what  "  going  home "  had  meant  for 
Justin  Peabody  these  ten  years ;  but  he  afterward 
felt  that  it  was  strange  that  the  thought  should 
have  struck  him  so  forcibly  on  that  particular  day. 

Entering  the  boarding  house,  he  found  a  letter 
with  the  Edgewood  postmark  on  the  hall  table,  and 
took  it  up  to  his  room,  his  heart  beating  with 
mingled  hope  and  fear. 

He  kindled  a  little  fire  in  the  air-tight  stove, 
watching  the  flame  creep  from  shavings  to  kin- 
dlings, to  small  pine  and  then  to  the  round,  hard- 
wood sticks ;  then  when  the  result  seemed  certain  he 
closed  the  stove  door  and  sat  down  to  read  the 
letter. 

His  heart  fell  to  find  it  from  a  stranger,  but  the 


32  THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 

writer,  Mrs.  Burbank,  president  of  the  Edgewood 
Dorcas  Society,  asked  him,  simply  and  graciously, 
for  a  contribution  to  help  the  women  keep  the  old 
Tory  Hill  Church  in  repair.  The  very  mention  of 
the  church  sent  his  thoughts  back  to  his  dead  father, 
mother',  sister,  and  another  woman  who  had  been 
dearer  than  all. 

Whereupon  all  manner  of  strange  things  began 
to  happen  in  his  head  and  heart  and  flesh  and  spirit 
as  he  sat  there  alone,  his  hands  in  his  pockets,  his 
feet  braced  against  the  legs  of  the  stove. 

It  was  a  cold  winter  night,  and  the  snow  and 
sleet  beat  against  the  windows.  He  looked  about 
the  ugly  room :  at  the  washstand  with  its  square  of 
faded  oilcloth  in  front  and  its  cracked  bowl  and 
pitcher;  at  the  rigors  of  his  white  iron  bedstead, 
with  the  valley  in  the  middle  of  the  lumpy  mattress 
and  the  darns  in  the  rumpled  pillowcases. 

Then  he  leaned  back  in  his  chair  and  closed  his 
eyes.  His  soul  sickened  and  cried  out  like  a  child's 
for  something  more  like  home.  It  was  as  if  a  spring 
thaw  had  melted  his  ice-bound  heart,  and  on  the 
crest  of  a  wave  it  was  drifting  out  into  milder 
waters.  He  could  have  laid  his  head  in  the  kind  lap 
of  a  woman  at  that  moment  and  cried : 

"  Oh,  comfort  me !  Give  me  companionship  or  I 
die !  " 

The  wind  howled  in  the  chimney  and  rattled  the 
loose  window  sashes ;  but  the  pressure  of  the  Edge- 
wood  letter  in  his  hand  had  worked  a  miracle.  It 
was  a  June  Sunday  in  the  boarding-house  bedroom ; 
and  for  that  matter  it  was  not  the  boarding-house 
bedroom,  at  all :  it  was  the  old  meeting  house  on 
Torv  Hill. 

The  windows  were  wide  open,  and  the  smell  of 
the  purple  clover  and  the  humming  of  the  bees  were 
drifting  into  the  sweet,  wide  spaces  within.  He  was 
sitting  in  the  end  of  the  old;  Peabody  pew,  and 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW  33 

Nancy  was  beside  him — dark-haired  Nancy,  under 
the  shadow  of  her  muslin  hat. 

"  By  cool   Siloam's  shady  rill, 

How  fair  the  lily  grows ; 
How  sweet  the  breath  beneath  the  hill, 
Of  Sharon's  dewy  rose! 

The  melodeon  gave  the  tune,  and  Nancy  and  he 
stood  to  sing,  taking  the  book  between  them.  His 
hand  touched  hers,  and  as  the  music  of  the  hymn 
rose  and  fell,  the  future  unrolled  itself  before  his 
eyes :  a  future  in  which  Nancy  was  his  wedded  wife, 
and  the  happy  years  stretched  on  in  front  of  them 
until  there  were  little  curly  heads  in  the  old  Pea- 
body  pew,  and  mother  and  father  could  look  proudly 
along  the  line  at  the  young  things  they  were  bring- 
ing into  the  house  of  the  Lord. 

The  recalling  of  that  vision  worked  like  magic 
in  Justin's  blood.  His  soul  rose  and  "  stretched  its 
wings  "  as  he  sprang  to  his  feet  and  walked  up  and 
down  the  bedroom  floor.  He  would  get  a  few  days' 
leave  and  go  back  to  Edge  wood  for  Christmas,  to 
join,  with  all  the  old  neighbors,  in  the  service  at 
the  meeting  house ;  and  in  pursuance  of  this  resolve 
he  hastily  packed  his  valise  and  started  for  the  rail- 
way station  without  any  supper. 

He  did  not  dare  write  Nancy  after  the  long 
silence  between  them.  He  wanted  to  see  her  and 
try  to  guess  his  fate  by  a  look  into  her  face ;  but 
he  could  not  resist  sending  a  mysterious  message 
from  New  York  and  another  from  Boston.  On  a 
sheet  of  white  paper  he  simply  printed  the  first 
time : 

"Second  Epistle  of  John,  Verse  12";  and  the 
•second  sheet  carried  merely  another  line :  "  Second 
Epistle  of  John,  Verse  5." 

If  Nancy  looked  up  these  references — and  what 


34 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 


woman  would  not? — she  might  possibly  remember 
a  boy-and-girl  letter  of  the  same  sort  that  had  once 
passed  between  them  when  they  were  schoolmates. 
He  was  a  failure.  Everything  his  hand  touched 
turned  to  naught,  but  he  had  never  loved  any  woman 
but  Nancy.  If  he  took  the  risks,  and  if  she  would 
take  them,  perhaps  after  all  he  could  make  a  better 
living  for  two  than  for  one.  At  any  rate  he  would 
go  home  and,  if  she  were  still  free,  tell  her  that  he 
was  an  unlucky  good-for-naught,  and  ask  her  if  she 
would  try  her  hand  at  making  him  over. 

At  this  moment  he  has  finished  his  supper  at  the 
Tory  Hill  Tavern  and  is  walking  to  Nancy  Went- 
worth's  house  as  fast  as  his  feet  will  carry  him. 
He  pauses  by  the  old  church,  to  wonder  at  its  white- 
ness ;  its  fresh-painted  blinds ;  its  newly  gilded 
weather  vane.  A  pale,  vagrant  light  wanders  from 
place  to  place  inside  the  building;  one  of  the  outer 
doors  is  ajar,  and  he  steps  softly  into  the  little  entry. 

Meantime  Nancy  is  there  before  him,  doing  her 
last  womanly  offices  for  the  dear  old  Peabody  pew. 
She  does  not  see  him,  and  after  a  few  moments  he 
feels  that  he  is  witnessing  something  sacred,  never 
intended  for  his  eyes ;  and  filled  with  love  and 
gratitude  and  reverence  he  tiptoes  out  of  the  church 
to  knock  at  the  door  and  give  her  warning  before  he 
enters  to  put  his  case  before  her. 


TO  BE  SPOKEN  SOFTLY  YET  DISTINCTLY 

Now,  friends,  imagine  that  you  are  not  here, 
Nor  lights,  nor  voices ;  Nancy  will  appear 
To  carry  on  the  work  she  loves  so  well. 
She  does  not  know  that  Justin's  come  to  tell 
The  story  that  she's  waited  long  to  hear ; 
That  story's  not  for  us  at  all ;  her  tear, 
Her  smile,  and  Justin's — these  shall  sacred  be, 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW  35: 

Forever  hidden  both  from  you  and  me. 

The  sexton  for  the  last  time  rings  the  bell ; 

It's  Nancy's  entrance  and  my  exit — fare  you  well! 

[The  sexton  rings  the  church  bell  three  times] 


ACT  II 

[NANCY  opens  outside  door,  closes  it  hard,  enters 
and  walks  up  aisle  with  a  lighted  lantern,  a  ham- 
mer and  a  small  roll  of  carpet  already  cut  to  fit 
the  Peabody  pew,  so  that  it  needs  little  tacking. 
She  puts  carpet  on  the  pezu  cushions,  takes  a  small 
kerosene  stove  from  under  the  front  wing  pew, 
lifts  it  to  platform,  lights  it  and  puts  a  flatiron 
on  top.  She  ascends  platform,  puts  her  coat  over 
a  chair  and  takes  off  her  hat.  Then  she  turnsi 
up  the  skirt  of  her  dress,  goes  to  the  Peabody 
pew  and  quickly  puts  in  the  few  tacks  needed  to 
'keep  the  pew  carpet  temporarily  in  place.  She~ 
is  out  of  sight  for  a  few  seconds  only,  during 
which  the  audience  hears  the  tap  of  the  hammer. 

[Just  as  she  rises,  JUSTIN  enters  noiselessly  and 
comes  softly  halfway  up  the  right-hand  aisle, 
where  he  stands  motionless,  in  view  of  two-thirds 
of  the  audience. 

[NANCY,  ignorant  that  she  is  watched,  takes  the" 
old  hymn  book  from  the  pew  rack,  carries  it  to 
platform,  "  tries "  the  iron,  carefully  irons  out 
a  few  of  the  leaves,  turns  out  flame  of  stove, 
kisses  the  page  of  the  open  book,  lays  it  against 
her  cheek  and  replaces  it  in  the  rack.  Then  she 
quietly  kneels  on  a  hassock  in  the  pezv  and  bends- 
her  head  over  the  rail  in  front  for  just  an  in- 


36  THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 

stant's  prayer.  NANCY  must  be  within  the  view 
of  the  audience  to  hold  the  interest.  If  the  plat- 
form is  too  low  the  ironing  may  be  done  on  the 
seat  of  a  chair  and  she  may  even  kneel  there  if 
necessary.  The  following  scene  will  be  more  ef- 
fective if  the  church  can  be  slightly  darkened.] 

{JUSTIN  covers  his  eyes  and  bows  his  head. 

(NANCY  vises  in  a  moment,  looks  at  the  pew  ten- 
derly, goes  slowly  and  sadly  to  the  platform,  and, 
just  as  she  is  about  to  put  on  her  red  cape,  her 
loneliness  overcomes  her;  she  sinks  into  the  chair 
and,  burying  her  face  in  the  cape,  gives  way  to 
tears. 

\Thc  moment  this  happens  JUSTIN  shows  that  he 
feels  he  is  watching  what  is  not  intended  for  his 
c~!cs.  He  retreats  very  softly,  "  backing  "  down 
the  aisle  on  tiptoe  quickly  and  closes  the  inside 
door  behind  him;  then  knocks  once,  then  twice, 
more  loudly. 

[NANCY  starts,  sits  up  in  the  big  pulpit  chair, 
brushes  tears  away,  smooths  hair. 

JUSTIN  (opening  door  and  speaking  through  the 
chink):  Hello!  Don't  be  frightened!  Is  Miss 
Nancy  Wentworth  here  ? 

NANCY  (startled  and  tremulous)  :  I'm  here. 
Who — what's  wanted? 

JUSTIN  (opening  the  door  and  striding  halfzvay 
up  the  aisle):  You're  wanted,  Nancy;  wanted 
badly,  by  Justin  Peabody,  come  back  from  the  West. 

{NANCY  rises,  stands  silent,  moves  toward  center 
of  plat f 01  m,  her  hand  on  her  heart. 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW  3> 

NANCY:  Is  it — can  it  be — Justin  Peabodyl 
or  is  it  Justin  Peabody's  ghost? 

JUSTIN  (coming  to  end  of  aisle  and  facing  plat' 
form)  :  No,  it's  Justin  Peabody  himself.  I  said  I'd 
come  back  to  you  when  my  luck  turned,  Nancy. 
Well,  it  hasn't  turned,  after  all ;  but  I  couldn't  wait 
any  longer  for  a  sight  of  you?  Have  you  given 
a  thought  to  me  in  all  these  years,  Nancy? 

NANCY:  What  do  you  think?  You  said  you'd 
come  back  to  me  when  your  luck  turned.  Don't 
you  think  I've  remembered  that? 

JUSTIN  (humbly):  I  think  perhaps  you  have; 
for  all  women  are  good,  and-  you  are  better  than  the 
best.  But  I  won't  come  a  step  nearer  till  I  tell  you 
that  I'm  still  a  failure,  as  men  go ;  though  I've  never 
loved  any  woman  but  you.  Does  that  make  any 
difference  ? 

NANCY  (smiling  tearfully)  :  Well,  a  man  isn't 
wholly  a  failure  who  can  say  that. 

JUSTIN  (stepping  nearer)  :  You  ought  to  despise 
me  for  coming  back  again  with  only  myself  and 
my  empty  hands  to  offer  you. 

NANCY  :  What  you've  just  told  me  means  they 
aren't  quite  empty. 

JUSTIN  (with  wonder)  :    Do  you  count — love? 

NANCY  (earnestly)  :  A  woman  always  counts 
love.  (Coming  one  step  nearer)  :  Why  didn't  you 
write,  Justin?  How  could  you  keep  silent  all  this 
time,  without  giving  me  a  sign,  even  of  friendship  ? 

JUSTIN  (one  step  nearer)  :  I  don't  know!  I  was 
tuo  discouraged  to  think  of  anything  but  my  fa.ljre. 
1  wasn't  sure  that  you  really  cared  anything  about 
me ;  and  how  could  I  have  written,  or  asked  you  to 
marry  me.  when  I  hadn't  a  dollar  in  the  world? 

NANCY  :  There  are  other  things  to  give  a  woman 
besides  dollars,  Justin. 

JUSTIN  (going  nearer  but  still  awaiting  a  warmer 
welcome)  :  Are  there?  Well,  you  shall  have  them 
all,  Nancy,  if  you  can  make  up  your  mind  to  do 


38  ¥<H£]  o^u  ^.rt.ijOiJY  PEW 

without  the  dollars,  for  dollars  seem  to  be  just  what 
I  can't  manage !  Here's  what  I've  come  back  from 
Detroit  to  say. — In  spite  of  all,  will  you  marry 
me,  Nancy?  You  know,  you  must  have  known 
how  it  used  to  be  with  us  in  the  old  days. 

NANCY  (retreating")  :  Yes,  I  know;  but  that  was 
long,  long  ago!  And  all  the  time  since  then  I've 
been  trying  to  push  you  out  of  my  mind  and  heart. 

JUSTIN  (humbly):  I  don't  wonder!  I'm  not 
surprised. 

NANCY  (turning  quickly)  :  I  didn't  say  I'd  alto- 
gether succeeded,  but  it  seems  to  me  I  ought  to 
think  it  over. 

JUSTIN  :     You've  had  ten  years,  Nancy,  dear. 

NANCY  :  You  have  had  ten  years,  7  haven't !  I 
never  think  whether  I'll  marry  a  man  till  he  asks  me. 
Let's  talk  about  it.  Nobody'll  be  coming  in.  We've 
got  to  get  acquainted  all  over  again  somehow. 
You're  almost  like  a  stranger !  I  never  thought  to 
marry  a  stranger  and  go  West  with  him ! 
[NANCY  turns  and  sits  on  one. of  the  chairs  on  the 

platform,  and  JUSTIN  sits,  beside  her. 

JUSTIN  (arm  on  back  of  NANCY'S  chair)  : 
You  don't  seem  a  stranger  to  me !  You,  sitting  be- 
side me  here  makes  me  feel  as  if  I'd  been  dead  all 
these  years,  and  just  born  over  again.  I've  led  a 
hard-working,  honest  life,  Nancy;  and  I  don't  owe 
any  man  a  cent — the  trouble  is  that  no  man  owes  me 
one !  I've  got  money  to  pay  two  fares  back  to 
Detroit  on  Monday,  although  I  was  terribly  afraid 
you  wouldn't  come  with  me.  Will  you  ?  I  love  you 
and  I  need  you! 
(Draws  her  a  little  nearer) 

NANCY  :  Well,  if  I'm  loved,  and  needed,  I — guess 
I'll  go ! 

(Hides  face  in  hands  or  drops  head  on  JUSTIN'S 
^shoulder) 

JUSTIN:  God  bless  you,  dear,  and  make  me 
worthy  of  your  confidence!  Life  has  been  all  up 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW  39 

liill  with  me  so  far.    Now  it  will  be  easier  travelling, 

with  you  beside  me. 

[He  bends  down  and  kisses  her  hair.    Momentary 

pause.     NANCY  lifts  her  head. 

NANCY  {with  an  almost  maternal  tenderness)  : 
Has  nothing  turned  out  well  with  you  in  business, 
Justin,  dear?  What's  been  the  matter? 

JUSTIN  :  I  saved  nearly  a  thousand  dollars  once, 
and  was  all  ready  to  come  back  ai)4  see  if  you  were 
still  unmarried^  but  I  invested  it/hoping  to  make  it 
two  thousand,  \nd — lost  it  all/  Then  I  got  more 
discouraged  than\ever. 

NANCY:  Of  course!  Anybody  would!  (turns 
away  to  hide  tears)\And  nobody  to  go  home  to  and 
tell  all  about  it.  \  / 

JUSTIN  :  Don't  sympathize  with  me,  Nancy !  I'm 
not  used  to  it ;  and  the  ntet  thing  you  know,  I  should 
cry  like  a  child.  *  /  \ 

NANCY  (wiping  her  eyes\half  smiling,  half  tear- 
ful) :  If  you  cry  I  shall  too\so  don't!  You  don't 
feel  so  discouraged  now,  do 

JUSTIN  (right,  girm  around  ohck  of  chair,  other 
hand  takes  hers})  :  Discouraged^  No !  I  don't 
believe  Croesus-  feels  any  richer  than  I  do  this 
minute — but  there'll  be  a  good  deal  of  planning  at 
the  beginning,  Nancy,  for  we  shall  be  poor.  I'm 
getting  sixty  dollars  a  month,  and  I  have  a  couple 
of  hundred  saved  for  furniture.  We  can  manage 
only  three  rooms  at  first,  I'm  afraid. 

NANCY:  Can  I  keep  hens?  I  can  always  make 
hens  pay! 

JUSTIN  :    Hens  ?    In  three  rooms,  Nancy  ? 

NA^NCY  :    Won't  there  be  any  yard  ? 

JI/STIN  :     No  yard,  I'm  afraid !     Yards  don't  go 
with  three  rooms — in  Detroit. 
/NANCY:     Shan't  we  have  any  trees? 

JUSTIN  :  Oh,  yes  !  A  few  !  but  you're  the  tree  I 
want  to  dig  up  and  take  West,  and  plant  and  live 
under,  and  be  buried  by ! 


40  THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 

NANCY  (with  a  hint  of  tears)  :  Oh,  Justin,  you 
make  me  so  happy  I  can  hardly  bear  it !  And  I've 
had  hens  and  yards  and  trees  for  thirty  years.  Do- 
ing without  them  will  be  a  change.  I  can  take  in 
sewing. 

JUSTIN  (straightening  his  shoulders  and  folding 
his  arms)  :  No,  you  can't,  Nancy.  I  need  your 
backbone  and  ingenuity;  but  if  I  can't  ask  you  to 
sit  with  your  hands  folded  for  the  rest  of  your 
life,  as  I'd  like  to,  you  sha'n't  use  them  for  other 
people.  You're  marrying  me  to  make  a  man  of  me, 
I  hope,  but  I'm  not  marrying  you  to  make  you  a 
drudge. 

NANCY  (looking  up  at  him  and  putting  her  hand 
on  his  shoulder}  :  Oh,  Justin !  There's  something 
wrong  somewhere;  but  we'll  find  it  out  together, 
you  and  I,  and  make  it  righ\.  You're  not  like  a 
failure.  You  don't  even  look  ^oor.  And  1  m  not 
quite  a  pauper.  There'll  be  the^  rent  of  my  little 
house,  and  a  carload  of  my  furniture — and  there's 
my  cat,  'Zekiel. 

JUSTIN  (laughing)  :  If  I  remembW  right,  there's 
a  cat  in  Detroit  we  could  get,  just  tox  begin  house- 
keeping with. 

NANCY:  There's  no  cat  in  Detroit  like  my 
'Zekiel  (takes  hold  of  his  coat  lapel)  ;  and  they'll 
raise  your  salary,  perhaps,  when  you  tell  them  you've 
got  a  wife  to  take  care  of.  (Clasps  hands)  ,  Oh,  I 
see  it  all.  and  it's  going  to  be  as  bright  and  happy 
as  it  can  be!  Don't  you  see  that  if  we  loveVeacn 
other,  that's  the  chief  thing,  and  the  little  worries 
and  difficulties  will  gradually  disappear?  \ 

JUSTIN  (rising  and  pacing  platform)  :  Qh, 
Nancy,  dear,  true  Nancy!  Your  faith  rebukes  ntye! 
I'm  ashamed  that  I've  been  a  coward,  waiting  jdl 
this  time,  when  you  surely  would  have  made  my 
happiness,  and  I  might  have  been  trying  to  make 
yours.  (Sitting)  Can  you  forgive — and  forget? 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW  41 

NANCY  (looking  up  at  JUSTIN)  :  I  forgot  and 
forgave  everything,  fifteen  minutes  ago,  Justin. 
Married  people  should  start  even:  it's  the  least  they 
•can  do.  And  love  always  wipes  out  everything  else 
on  the  slate ! 

J USTIN  :  Bless  you,  dear !  (Lifting  her  hand  and 
kissing  it)  Then  I'll  call  for  you  to-morrow  morn-- 
ing, after  the  last  bell  has  stopped  ringing,  and  we 
will  walk  up  the  aisle  and  sit  together  in  my  pew 
through  the  service.  That  will  be  equal  to  an 
announcement,  especially  if  yotK  take  my  arm 
going  up  the  aisle.  It  will  show  without  a  word 
what  we've  promised  to  be  to  each  other,  and  it's 
the  only  thing  that  will  make  me  feel  sure  of  you, 
after  all  these  mistaken  years.  Have  you  got  the 
courage  ? 

NANCY:  I  shouldn't  wonder!  If  I  had  courage 
enough  to  wait  for  you  all  this  time  I've  got  courage 
enough  to  walk  up  the  aisle  with  you,  and  marry 
you -he-sides — listen!  (Rises  at  the  sound  of  distant 
sleigh  bells  the  cue  being  the  word  "wait")  I  think 
I  hear  sleigh  bells.  ( JUSTIN  rises)  It  must  be 
Deacon  Miller  to  do  the  lamps.  (Pause,  during 
which  they  both  listen)  No ;  they've  gone  by.  But 
they're  certain  to  be  here  soon.  They  always  come 
in  by  that  door  (indicating  one),  so  we'll  Slip  out  by 
the  other,  shall  we?  Then  we  needn't  meet  any- 
body. I  don't  feel  like  it,  do  you? 

JUSTIN  (ardently)  :  No;  I  feel  like  meeting  you 
every  minute — but  nobody  else!  (Both  laugh  and 
blush)  Now  let's  settle  the  one  important  thing! 
We'll  be  married  right  after  meeting  to-morrow, 
shall  we?  and  go  home  to  Detroit  next  day.  (Sigh 
•of  joy)  Oh!  I  never  thought  I  should  call  Detroit 
home. 

NANCY:     Nor  I! 


42  THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 

JUSTIN  :    But  it  will  be,  with  you  ! 

NANCY:    Yes  it  will  be — with  you! 

JUSTIN  :  Why  didn't  you  take  that  man  in  Ber- 
wick? 

NANCY:     What  man  in  Berwick? 

JUSTIN  :    Were  there  so  many  ?    I  don't  wonder ! 

NANCY:  How  did  you  know  anything  about 
Berwick  ? 

JUSTIN  :  I  always  got  all  the  news  I  could ! — 
Why  didn't  you  take  him  Nancy? 

NANCY:  I  don't  know  quite.  Perhaps  my  heart 
was  "  mortgaged,"  Justin. 

JUSTIN  :  That  makes  me  hope  it  belonged  to  me ! 
Everything  I  ever  had  was  always  mortgaged ! 

NANCY  :  But  this  time  you  can  foreclose,  Justin, 
don't  you  see  ? 

JUSTIN  :  Yes,  and  I'll  give  you  a  mortgage  on 
my  heart! 

NANCY  :  By  what  you  say,  I've  always  had  one, 
so  I  foreclosed  just  a  few  minutes  ago  of  my  own 
aacord.  I  hope  you  don't  mind? 

JUSTIN  :  No,  for  the  first  time  in  my  life  I  posi- 
tively like  losing  something.  It's  only  my  heart  and 
you've  given  me  a  better  one  in  its  place.  That's 
what  makes  me  feel  so  rich  I  suppose.  What  do  you 
think  I  am  going  to  put  into  the  plate  to-morrow 
morning?  (Takes  out  ten-dollar  bill)  This! 

NANCY  (taking  bill  for  a  moment)  :  Ten  dollars ! 
Justin !  Can  you  afford  it  ? 

JUSTIN  :  No ;  but  I'm  going  to  give  it  just  the 
same — unless  you  think  I'd  better  not. 

NANCY  (between  laughing  and  crying  sinks  into 
a  chair)  :  No,  no !  I'd  love  to  have  you  give  it ! 
I've  been  on  the  Furnace  Committee,  and  the  Organ 
Committee,  the  Shingling  Committee  and  the  Carpet 
Committee,  and  I've  never  seen  a  ten-dollar  bill 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW  43 

before.  Give  it,  even  if  we  live  on  bread  and  milk 
for  a  week.  (She  rises  again)  I  just  glory  in  you! 
Oh,  how  Deacon  Miller  will  stare !  I  only  hope  he 
won't  faint  in  the  aisle.  And  the  Dorcas  Society 
will  be  so  pleased. 

JUSTIN  :  It  will  come  back  to  us,  Nancy.  I  feel 
sure  it  will. 

NANCY:  And  so  do  I.  Let's  look  straight  into 
each  other's  eyes  and  say  solemnly :  "  We'll  be 
married ;  we'll  be  happy ;  we'll  prosper  in  the  West ; 
and  we'll  come  back  every  summer,  to  sit  in  the 
dear  old  Peabody  pew."  Say  it  after  me ! 

JUSTIN  :  All  right !  It'll  be  a  sort  of  preparation 
for  to-morrow's  ceremony.  (He  repeating) : 
"  We'll  be  married ;  we'll  be  happy ;  we'll  prosper  in 
the  West ;  and  we'll  come  back  every  summer,  to  sit 
in  the  dear  old  Peabody  pew  " — bless  its  heart ! 
(They  give  each  other  a  straightforward  kiss. 
Looking  at  another  pew,  back  in  the  body  of  the 
church):  Poor,  lonesome  Went  worth  pew!  I'm 
sorry  for  it ! 

NANCY:  My  cat,  'Zekiel,  can  sit  there!  He'll 
be  the  only  Went  worth  left — after  to-morrow ! 

TABLEAU 
END  OF  PLAY 


As  there  is  no  curtain,  my  own  performances  of 
the  play  were  finished  thus :  Nancy  takes  Justin's 
arm  after  her  last  speech  and  faces  the  audience 
quietly.  The  members  of  the  Carpet  Committee 
took  their  places  in  the  rear  pews  of  the  church 
at  their  exit,  ready  to  be  called  when  the  time  comes. 
I  read  the  little  epilogue  as  author,  but  have  changed 
and  shortened  it  to  make  it  suit  the  Reader,  who 
steps  again  quietly  from  the  front  pew  and  speaks: 


44  THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW 

As  skilled  magicians  from  the  vasty  deep 

Summon  the  spirits  they  themselves  create, 
So  with  her  pencil,  emblem  of  her  craft, 

The  author  fashioned  Justin  and  his  mate. 
From  out  the  pages  of  her  simple  book 

They  make  their  bow  before  you  here  to-night, 
And   then,    their    story   having   well    begun, 

Swift  as  they  came,  they  vanish  from  your  sight. 

{The  Reader  here  beckons  to  NANCY  and  JUSTIN  in 
turn,  and  while  she  speaks  the  following  lines 
they  walk  singly  from  the  platform,  like  the 
figures  in  a  dream,  and  take  their  places 
side  by  side  at  the  threshold  of  the  Peabody  pew, 
facing  the  audience.  JUSTIN  takes  hymn  book 
and,  opening  it,  holds  it  with  NANCY,  but  there  is 
no  other  movement. 

THE  READER 

•Come,  Nancy,  dear  as  any  living  child ; 

Come,  Justin,  true  and  staunch,  tho'  slow  to  woo  J 
As  if  'twere  real,  we  long  to  hear  you  sing 

The  good  old  hymn  tunes  in  the  old-time  pew. 

•[The  organist  plays  " Siloam"  once  through,  very 
softly.  On  the  third  line  of  the  verse  NANCY 
and  JUSTIN  raise  their  eyes  for  a  long  look  at 
each  other,  then  drop  them  again. 

THE  READER 

And  now  the  women  of  the  modest  tale, 
Pious  as  Dorcas,  free  from  vulgar  show, 

I  summon  for  the  author  once  again 

That  they  may  make  their  curtsies  ere  you  go. 

JElvira,  leader  of  the  Dorcas  band, 

Precede  your  faithful  sisters  up  the  aisle. 


THE  OLD  PEABODY  PEW  45 

Good  Mistress  Miller,  follow  in  her  train, 
And  genial  Widow  Buzzell,  bow  and  smile. 

Now  Mistress  Sargent,  wise  in  village  lore ; 
Maria,  sharp  of  tongue  but  sound  of  heart; 

And  neat  Lobelia,  who's  no  friend  to  man, 

Perhaps  because  she's  never  felt  Love's  dart. 

Last  comes  the  parson's  wife,  sweet  Nancy's  friend; 

Her  curtsy,  then  the  reader's — then  the  end. 

[The  members  of  the  cast  have  come  slowly  up  one 
aisle,  crossed  before  the  aiidience  and  curtsied, 
going  dozvn  the  other  aisle.  NANCY  and  JUSTIN 
follow  arm  in  arm,  and  the  reader  joins  the  dis- 
appearing procession,  last  in  line. 

THE  END 


•RSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY 

Los  Angeles 


•  GAL1FORSUUI 

"OS  ANGELES 


.PAMPHLET  BINDER 

Syrocuse,  N.  Y. 
Stockton.  Calif. 


UCLA-Young  Research  Library 

PS3302  .044  1917 
y 


L  009  618  752  1 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


AA    001  223  754    1 


